


taste the freedom on your lips

by ohlawsons



Series: dragon age fic [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlawsons/pseuds/ohlawsons
Summary: Choices are difficult, and Olivia Amell is used to decisions being made for her. First the Circle, then the Wardens -- and now she has nothing, nothing but an impossible task and an unending array ofchoices.A collection of one shots that will span Origins.





	1. prologue: kinloch hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which olivia just wants to be a good mage. 
> 
> so i'm sort of... diving back into dragon age head first. i'm not 100% certain where this is going, but i've got a couple more one shots done and i think i'll be keeping up with this as i do (yet another) playthrough with olivia. i'm calling this the prologue since it's a bit odd and choppy.
> 
> *jazz hands* enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think. especially since i'm Rusty at this whole dragon age thing lmao

They came in the middle of the night.

Most of the apprentices were already asleep, and those that weren’t pretended to be. Olivia, having tossed and turned for hours as Grey Wardens and wars and other anxiety-inducing tower gossip flashed through her mind, was one of those who kept her eyes squeezed shut and her thin blankets pulled up to her chin.  If she kept quiet, and if the Maker were to actually hear her silent prayers, then perhaps the templars would pass her up and she would wake in the morning the same way she had ever since arriving at Kinloch Hold.

But the Maker either heard nothing, or chose to ignore the pleas of a mage, because Olivia was roused from her attempt at sleep and led, roughly, out of her bed and away from the dormitories. Her head spun and her vision flashed white as she was suddenly upright, scrambling and stumbling to keep up as her socks slid over the cool stone floors of the tower. There were two templars — one that held Olivia by the upper arm and one that followed closely behind — and a third waiting out in the hall; they explained that it was time for her Harrowing, that she had only the trip to the upper floors to prepare herself.

They met Irving and Greagoir and two more templars upstairs, and the prayers now fell from Olivia’s lips in rushed, frantic whispers. She was given warnings and well wishes and empty apologies, but nothing helped — not when she had no idea what to expect, or how to prepare, or what to do.

Olivia’s worries — however well-founded — were unnecessary. The Fade was as familiar as the Circle. Nervousness manifested as distrust. The ice at her fingertips formed as easily as the prayers in her mind had. She faced spirits and demons and creatures she had no names for, and as the final test drew to an end and her exhaustion and lack of mana left her with a familiar light, shaky sensation, Olivia found that the test wasn’t over after all. Her hesitance and denial had perturbed her _ally_ , the quiet and strangely helpful Mouse, and before she could stammer out another uncertain refusal — _the templars would never allow it; rules are rules, after all, and I’m sorry_ — the apprentice’s appearance had shifted into a demon more frightening and intimidating than the one she’d just faced.

Dread chilled her, but before she could even fully comprehended the fear, there was a tug as her mind was pulled from the Fade and she was left staring, wide eyed, up at Irving. Olivia had just enough time to let out a single, shaky breath before she felt consciousness slip from her again.

* * *

 

 _Do not speak of the Harrowing to those who have yet to experience it_ , they told her. But Olivia had no desire to, and flinched at the inevitable questioning from the other apprentices.

The continued mention of it made her uneasy, and she busied herself through the rest of the day by hiding out in the library — with the exception of responding to Irving’s summons when he introduced her to a visiting Grey Warden — and occasionally watching the templars, studying and scrutinizing them in a way she hadn’t before.

They protected the mages, she reminded herself. They watched over the Circle and had such an awful, gruesome duty and Olivia felt sorry for them.She hadn’t ever felt so threatened by them than she had during her Harrowing, and yet she could only imagine how much worse they would have felt.

It must be a truly terrible thing, she thought, to be so bound by duty.

* * *

 

_In death, sacrifice._

That was all Olivia could recall from the rather dour Grey Warden motto. They were quite the fatalistic bunch, in her opinion, though she couldn’t necessarily argue given that the Wardens pledged their lives to fighting darkspawn. The very _thought_ of the creatures sent a chill slipping down her spine, and her knowledge on the subject was limited to what little she’d read in the library.

And the Circle didn’t exactly have a vast collection of Warden literature.

Not that Olivia _wanted_ to be an expert on Wardens; they were the heroes of old stories, their adventures regaled in ancient tales — they weren’t exactly a modern group that she had any interest in joining. Irving had simply introduced her to a Warden, and no matter how much the senior enchanters gossiped, Olivia wasn’t convinced that the Warden Commander had his eye on her.

She kept to herself, and followed orders, and did a considerable amount of reading. She wasn’t a good fit for the Wardens.

Besides, they already had several senior enchanters that had left for… somewhere. Ostagar, perhaps? They’d left the tower for a time to assist the Wardens with the war effort to the south, and any one of the enchanters were more talented than Olivia could ever hope to be.

She hadn’t even been a mage for a full day.

The thought sent both pride and uncertainty bubbling up within her, and Olivia nestled further down into the blankets of her new bed, enjoying the relative silence of her new quarters. As an apprentice, she’d shared a dormitory with two dozen other apprentices, each with only a small bed and chest for their belongings, with templars stationed around the room. Here, she shared her quarters with two other mages, but they each had their own bedroom and though it was far from _private_ , the templars remained in the common room and were even out of sight at times.

Olivia had a bed — much larger than her previous one — and a wardrobe, and a small bookcase, and so much room that was now _hers_ that she didn’t know exactly what to do with it. Some of the other apprentices had asked her about it, and Jowan had even visited her shortly before she’d gone to bed. His initial excuse had been that he wanted to inspect her new quarters, but it had soon become clear he had more to say. Their evening trek to the Circle’s small Chantry had left Olivia uneasy, and Jowan’s talk of love and escape and tranquility replayed over and over in her mind as tried, in vain, to sleep.

He’d had a point. If Jowan’s fears were true, he wouldn’t have been the first mage to undergo the Rite of Tranquility in place of attempting a Harrowing; unsettling as the thought was, Olivia couldn’t bring herself to agree with Jowan’s conclusion that he had no choice but to flee from the Circle. Tranquility was just another of the templars’ unenviable duties, meant to protect a mage from themselves as much as it was to protect the rest of the Circle — surely, abandoning that safety was the wrong decision?

The templars had a duty to keep the mages safe, Olivia thought, so she must also have some duty to assist them.

* * *

 

There was no easy way to have such a conversation. But when dawn came, Olivia was at Irving’s door despite her uncertainty and the fact that her nerves made her so tense she was surprised she didn’t snap when the door to the First Enchanter’s office opened.

* * *

 

The stars were much more beautiful in the sky than they were in books.

So much had happened in the past few hours, but the overwhelming sense of doubt and regret and worry vanished — if only for a moment — as Olivia stepped out of the Circle with Duncan. She recognized some things from maps and books and tales told by those who’d been outside before; she recognized the calm waters of Lake Calenhad, the rolling landscape of the hinterlands, and there in the distance was a blotch on the dark horizon, a small shape that could only be Redcliffe castle.

There were new things, too — the chill of the evening breeze, the softness of grass and dirt beneath her thin shoes, the rather pungent smell of the water as she stood at the shoreline. It was the stars, though, that made Olivia stop in her tracks; she stared up at the night sky, transfixed by how enormous it was and how far it stretched and the impossible amount of twinkling specks that dotted it.

Duncan waited patiently as Olivia took everything in; it wasn’t until she attempted to begin searching for constellations — _where would she even_ start _? There were so many stars it was almost disorienting_ — that she remembered the Circle and Jowan and the Wardens, and the events of the day came crashing back to her. She deflated a bit, wringing her hands in front of her as she continued following Duncan. She’d betrayed a friend, but his betrayal had been so much worse.

Hadn’t it?

Jowan had put his trust in Olivia, yes, but she’d been trying to do the _right_ thing, to protect the Circle and keep her friend safe; Jowan wanted only freedom and to put his life and the lives of countless others in danger. That _had_ to be worse, didn’t it? The Warden, at least, thought so, having immediately recruited — or conscripted, though Olivia still wasn’t quite certain what that meant, beyond forcing Irving and Greagoir to agree — Olivia after Jowan fled. She didn’t think it was a life she wanted, to serve as a Grey Warden, and yet it was clear that she no longer had a say in the matter, and the adventures and heroics that had been previously confined to stories were now to become _hers_.

Perhaps the Grey Wardens had need of a librarian, or arcanist, or scribe. Olivia would be better suited to that than to a position on the battlefield.


	2. ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which alistair is in charge and olivia isn't dealing with this whole 'freedom' thing very well. also: mabari.
> 
> i feel like i should also point out that olivia has a very fucked up view of the circle? that'll change eventually but for now she's just scared and confused

Never before had Olivia made so many introductions in so short a time.

_Olivia Amell, of Kinloch Hold. A pleasure to meet you_ , to the king as he conversed with Duncan and boasted of Olivia’s talents despite her insistence that she was far from the most powerful mage at Ostagar.

_Olivia, yes_ , to Wynne as the senior enchanter imparted a bit of Chantry history to a mage she was less than familiar with.

_My name’s Olivia. I’m going to come in and take a look, if that’s okay?_ to the ailing mabari as she rested her head on Olivia’s lap and listened to homesick tales of the Circle.

To most she was just a mage, to some she was Duncan’s newest recruit, and her name was of little consequence. But despite the dozens of times she’d repeated her name to unfamiliar people whose faces were all beginning to blur together, at one point that evening Olivia found herself blinking in confusion as she heard someone _else_ calling her name.

“That _was_ it, right? Olivia Amell?”

Olivia nodded as she turned, finding herself face to face with the very person she’d been searching for, a heavily armed Warden with sandy hair and a splash of light freckles across his nose. “Alistair?”

“That’s me,” he replied lightly, tone somewhat amused. “Duncan sent you after me, didn’t he? To get you ready for tomorrow?”

“Um, yes. Tomorrow.” Her mind flashed to her conversation with the Warden Commander; it had only been an hour or two earlier, when they’d first arrived at Ostagar, but between all the people she’d met and spoken with since then and the fact that she was still generally overwhelmed by the sheer amount of _things_ going on in the camps, Olivia had found herself more scatterbrained than a young apprentice. “He said it’s too late to head out tonight, but we’re going into the Wilds in the morning?” At the end of her statement, her tone lilted upwards into a question.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Alistair gave her a wide smile, and Olivia felt some of her unease lift. “Just a standard bit of preparation for the new recruits. Till then, you’ve got a place to spend the night over with the Wardens, or at the mage encampment if you really want. You already missed dinner, unfortunately, but Wardens always have food somewhere, so that’s not a big problem.” He paused, frowning a bit in thought. “I think that’s it. If you need anything, I’m technically the one in charge of helping the newest recruits prepare, so just ask.”

“I will, thank you.”

But she had no questions to ask, so she left, and found herself lingering around the rest of the mages for the majority of the night. She tried camping with them, as well, but sleep evaded her and Olivia spent the majority of the night reading, curled up against one of the ruined stone walls and sheathing a hand in the soft glow of arcane magic.

She drifted asleep just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and woke a few hours later with her book on the ground and an aching in her neck. It took a few minutes, as it had every morning since she’d left the Circle, for Olivia to remember where she was; as everything came back to her, she picked the book up and hugged it to her chest, steeling herself before pushing herself to her feet.

* * *

 

There wasn’t any rush to get moving the next day — they had until nightfall, after all, and Alistair didn’t expect the trip would take more than a few hours — and no one was in any particular hurry to head out into the Korcari Wilds, but that didn’t mean Alistair wanted to spend the morning searching for one of the recruits.

Daveth and Jory had both been ready to go, but Olivia was proving difficult to find. She hadn’t been with the mages or in the Grey Warden encampment, and Alistair had been on his way back to Duncan when something caught his eye — a young woman in orange robes sitting in the mabari enclosure, talking softly to one of the dogs as its head rested on her thigh. He said nothing as he approached, watching with some curiosity as Olivia scratched behind the mabari’s ears and spoke of the collection of books she’d had to leave behind at the Circle.

After a moment, the mabari’s ears perked up just the slightest bit, and it glanced over at Alistair and gave a small huff. Following the mabari’s gaze, Olivia looked back, catching Alistair’s eye and seeming to shrink a bit as she realized he’d been watching. “I’ve lost track of time,” she guessed, a near-imperceptible flush of pink coloring her cheeks.

Alistair shrugged, finding it hard to fault her for spending time with the wounded mabari. “I doubt anyone in Ferelden would hold this against you,” he pointed out with a grin, nodding towards the mabari. “Still, we should probably get going. We have all day, but that doesn’t mean we can waste time.”

With a nod, Olivia pulled herself to her feet. Alistair led her over to where the others were waiting, and without wasting any more time they headed out of Ostagar and into the Korcari Wilds.

There were wolves and bears and other creatures to be found in the Wilds, but Alistair wasn’t concerned with _them;_ he kept his focus on the darkspawn he could sense, mostly small groups that were still a good ways off. Until they came closer, he let the recruits take the lead — Daveth took point, with Jory close behind, and Olivia trailed close behind Alistair.

He steered them away from the wildlife as best he could — no sense in letting them tire themselves out before they even encountered any darkspawn — and they’d been walking for a good half hour before they were attacked. A lone wolf came tearing towards the group, snarling and baring its teeth; Alistair had barely unsheathed his sword when he felt the telltale draw of mana, a leftover product of his templar training that left the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

The wolf froze in place, and then it _froze_ , ice crystals spreading through its fur and the scarce grass at its feet going white with frost. Then with another flash, it was torn apart, ice and blood and fur suddenly sent pouring out from where the wolf had been only a moment before.

Alistair and the two other recruits turned back to Olivia, where she stood with one hand still outstretched and the other holding her staff in a white-knuckled grip. “I’ve… never done that on an actual living creature,” she admitted, voice tinged with pride but face going pale.

“Save some of that for the darkspawn,” Daveth suggested, turning and continuing in the direction they’d been heading.

Alistair held back, letting Daveth lead and falling into step beside Olivia. “You said you’ve never done that before?” He was inclined to trust her, given the wide-eyed shock that had followed the attack, but it was still difficult to completely stifle the distrust of mages that his training had left him with.

Olivia fidgeted a bit, still grasping her staff tightly in both hands, eyes plastered to the ground as walked with careful, deliberate steps. “I— Well.” She cleared her throat, scanning the landscape before glancing up at Alistair. “I have. Just not on anything… alive. And not _often_ ,” she clarified, tilting her head a bit as her eyebrows lifted. Some of the earlier unease from the fight crept back into her voice. “I wasn’t very far along in my training. I only became a proper mage a few days before Duncan recruited me.”

He gave a light laugh, hoping to ease a bit of the tension. “Well that’s further along than I got,” Alistair commented with a shrug. “I wasn’t even a full templar when I left with Duncan.” It was the moment after he spoke — a moment too late — that he wondered if that revelation might come across the wrong way, or if it might’ve been better to offer it up when they’d been back at camp, or when Olivia hadn’t looked as nervous as… well, as a cornered mage.

But to Alistair’s surprise, the knowledge seemed to comfort her. “You’re a templar?” There was a softness to her voice, the release of a breath held too long as her shoulders relaxed and, for the first time since leaving Ostagar, her grip on her staff loosened.

“I… _was_. A recruit, at least.”

“Good.” Olivia nodded and took a deep, steadying breath. “That’s good.”

Alistair felt his brow furrow; he studied the mage for a moment, wondering why exactly she seemed to react so positivly to the news when so few others did. Perhaps, he thought, it would just take time for the realization to sink in that she wasn’t bound to the Circle any longer and he lacked many of the skills unique to the templars. Or perhaps she really _was_ frightened of the prospect of not having templars around.

But a light pressure at the base of Alistair’s skull drew him from his thoughts; they had bigger issues to deal with, now, and in any case, a single curious mage wasn’t worth wasting any more time over.

“Gather ‘round, recruits,” he called, keeping his voice as low as he could while still making himself heard. “There’s darkspawn ahead, and I don’t think Duncan would forgive me if I lost you all to an ambush.”

* * *

 

He was glad she survived the Joining. Ordinarily, they would’ve celebrated, but there wasn’t time with the preparations for the coming battle.

The battle they wouldn’t even be fighting in. Well, not _really_.

Lighting the beacon was _important_ , Duncan had assured them. Important enough that he’d agreed to Cailan’s insistence that they send Wardens, but not enough that he’d sent more experienced Wardens. No, it was up to Alistair and Olivia to wait at the top of the Tower of Ishal, far from the actual battle, and watch for a signal so they could light a beacon.

“ _Glorious_ ,” he’d said, with no small amount of sarcasm, in a blatant imitation of the king. Olivia had smiled, but her nervous fidgeting hadn’t seemed to lessen.

They had gone over their roles one last time with Duncan, then taken a few moments to themselves to prepare. Olivia was still over near the quartermaster’s when they were meant to be leaving; when Alistair went looking for her, he found her in the middle of fastening her boots, her gloves discarded on the ground beside her.

She was no longer in her mage robes, but in a set of light Warden armor, though she still had the light silver staff she’d arrived with. Without even glancing up as Alistair approached, Olivia muttered an apology and snatched up her gloves and staff as she stood.

“Not looking forward to going back out there?” Alistair guessed, more than a bit familiar with the look of hesitance and distaste that Olivia currently wore. He was certain he’d had the same expression after his first time facing down darkspawn; they were hardly pleasant creatures, and few recruits that Joined had ever seen anything so horrifying.

She frowned. “I didn’t mean for it to be so obvious.” Tucking her staff under one arm, Olivia began to follow Alistair towards the opposite side of camp, pulling on her gloves as they walked.

“Intuition,” Alistair corrected. “I’m quite sensitive, you know. Very in-tune with my emotions.”

His joking had its intended effect, and Olivia gave a small — if somewhat tense — smile in response. “I had a friend like you back in the Circle,” she admitted, her voice quiet amongst the sounds of camp as the Wardens prepared for battle. “He always had something clever to say.”

“ _Clever_ ,” he repeated, drawing the word out longer than was necessary. “I like it. Sounds a lot better than what the Chantry mothers used to say.”

“I can’t imagine they were impressed.”

“Not at all.” Alistair made a show of rolling his eyes. “It was always, _Alistair, stop playing practical jokes on the other recruits_ , or _Alistair, stop replacing random words in the Chant with ‘cheese_.’”

Olivia pursed her lips; for a moment, she looked like one of the disapproving Chantry mothers. “Really?”

“Well, it’s not like I _wanted_ to be there. Breaking a few rules just made it a little less boring.”

Something in his words caused a shift in Olivia’s demeanor; she became guarded and distant, clutching tightly onto her staff as she had that morning in the Wilds. She gave a quiet, “I see,” but didn’t look up, instead falling a bit behind as she walked and keeping her eyes down. Alistair was tempted to try and figure out what exactly he’d said that had bothered her, but they’d nearly arrived at the Tower of Ishal and he could sense darkspawn — far more than they were equipped to deal with, but they had a job to do — so it would have to wait.

_Well done, Alistair._


End file.
